The
Theory of the Hairy Arm
Many years ago I had the privilege of doing some work for a
vice president of marketing -- I'll call him Joe -- who was, without
doubt, the nicest executive I've ever met. (Yes, I know I just damaged
my curmudgeonly reputation by admitting this.) Joe was close to retirement
when I met him. He'd been a marketing exec for about a zillion years,
and had great stories to share. This is about one of them.
Part of what made Joe special was that he saw the people who worked
for him (both staff and independent professionals) as real human beings,
not just as chess pieces to help him achieve his goals. He seemed to
have a permanently rosy view of human nature. In spite of this, I never
tried to take advantage of him -- that would have made me feel like
a heel. Nonetheless, to tell you the truth, I did think Joe was a little
naive; I thought he was incapable of understanding that people might
try to take advantage of his niceness, to manipulate him. I certainly
never thought him capable of manipulating anyone else. One day I discovered
I was wrong.
I used to present Joe with graphic-design layouts I had drawn. Inevitably,
he would ask for some changes; that was a normal part of the design
process. In fact, the opportunity for clients to make choices and revisions
is the main reason you present layouts to them in the first place.
One day I showed Joe a layout that I had worked on long and hard. In
addition to my layout drawing, there was a headline I had written which
I was quite proud of. Since he was an experienced copywriter, I was
afraid he might change the headline.
Joe scrutinized the layout for a few minutes. Finally he said "I like
it," and handed it back to me.
"You like it..." I said, my voice trailing off. I didn't understand.
"You like it and..."
"And nothing. Do it."
"No changes?" He shook his head, no. I was in shock. Clients always
made some kind of change. "Wow," I said. "I was afraid you were going
to change the headline, but I was hoping you'd just change something
trivial instead. It never occurred to me you wouldn't change anything."
He smiled. "I've been doing this a long time," he said. "I don't need
to 'put my stamp' on everything. But most clients always do, don't they?"
I nodded my agreement, and he continued. "They have some kind of inner
need to affect every project in some way, no matter how minor -- so
they can feel it was theirs, that they're a part-author of it, that
they're in control, that they made a difference."
"I've never heard anybody say that out loud before," I told him, admiringly.
"How did you know that? Were you ever a freelancer?"
"Oh, yes," he said. "Did you know I used to do graphic-arts production,
decades ago when I was a young man like you?"
I told him I hadn't known.
"Yes," he said, "and we had this stat camera [used to make photographic
layouts or production duplicates in pre-computer days]. And we had this
client who had to change something on every piece, no matter what. Usually
he would ruin it. So the other freelancers and I devised this technique.
We called it the hairy arm." To demonstrate, Joe rolled up one of his
sleeves and flourished... a hairy arm.
To say Joe had my undivided attention would be something of an understatement.
I waited for him to continue.
"Well, when I made a photostat, I would 'accidentally' have my arm
intrude into the picture area when I snapped the shutter. Then when
I presented the client with the stat, there would be the image of my
hairy arm on one side, partially overlapping the ad. The guy would look
at it, and he'd say, 'What the hell is that hairy arm doing in there?'"
Joe grinned at the memory and went on. "I'd say, 'Arm? Oh, that. I
didn't notice that.' And he'd say, 'Get that arm out of there! You can't
leave a hairy arm in there!'
"And then, as he was stalking self-righteously away, I'd call after
him, 'When I remove the arm can we go into production?' and he'd call
over his shoulder, 'Yes, but get that arm out of there first!' Then
I'd hear him muttering, 'These people! You've got to watch them like
a hawk!'"
Joe was laughing now, and I was laughing with him. "Telling me to take
out the arm satisfied him," he said, "so he didn't change anything important."
He rolled his sleeve back down. "You should always put a hairy arm into
every project you work on, to give the client something to change. Of
course, you've got to make the arm dumb enough so they'll be sure to
see it and object."
That's how I discovered that even a gentle,
straightforward soul like Joe was capable of a little deviousness and
manipulation. Unless he was just kidding and the whole story was a joke.
I never did find out.
As my freelance career progressed, I learned not to be bothered by
the changes most clients make. In fact, not taking revisions personally
is part of becoming truly professional. However, occasionally I'd run
into a client who seemed to have some compulsive inner need to make
arbitrary, almost random changes to my work. It didn't feel like just
a control-freak thing -- more like a dog who has to "mark" every tree
and fire hydrant with his scent, to establish his ownership of the territory.
In extreme cases like these, I'd occasionally remember Joe and try to
put his hairy-arm theory into practice. Sometimes it worked, though
I discovered that it had some drawbacks:
-
The client might like the arm, and then you're stuck with
it.
-
You can never predict with certainty what someone will actually
focus on. No matter how well you think you know a client, you can't
really know what's in her mind or predict what her reaction will
be to every detail. Second-guessing can burn up a lot of energy
without giving you any more control.
-
If you throw too many hairy arms around, you'll get a reputation
for being sloppy. Or at least hairy.
As a result of these drawbacks, I don't actually use the hairy arm
much. But somehow, in a way I can't really explain, I've found it valuable
for helping me to understand the way people think -- or maybe I just
like it because I think it's funny.
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